


Keep me 'till the petals fall (and even then, hold me close)

by Occamaestro



Series: To marry Tomarry (is a difficult task) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, Discord: Tomarrymort | Chamber of Secrets, Gen, Museums, Mystery, Organized Crime, Robbery, Roses, Thief, Thief Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occamaestro/pseuds/Occamaestro
Summary: The Rose Robberies have been stumping the best of Scotland Yard for two years. Now they've put Harry Potter on the case. He's not the best (or so they think,). The ink on his diploma is still wet. But he did pretty well in analysis, maybe he'll spot something they didn't.orIn which Harry Potter is a detective, a criminal, and a mastermind in no particular order.(Big thanks to Sunflower123ink for being an AMAZING Beta and an even better friend <3)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: To marry Tomarry (is a difficult task) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112675
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Keep me 'till the petals fall (and even then, hold me close)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflower123ink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower123ink/gifts).



> Disclaimer: sssSSShhhSSSsss (Translation from Parsletounge- I do not own Harry Potter) 
> 
> Thank you to Dragaeth and SpokenSoftly in the Tommary Discord for helping me create this amazing title and this amazing summary respectively.

“Potter,” 

Harry looks up from his cup. 

“Yes?” 

Pettigrew is standing next to him. 

“Take my case,” 

Harry looks down automatically for a suitcase, his professional you-are-so-much-better-than-me mask slipping on automatically. He’s just graduated after all, and so far it seems that the first task he has been (unofficially, of course) assigned is to be a successful busboy. (Sometimes he wishes his father had left him money that the Dursleys couldn’t take, maybe then he wouldn’t spend his time running favors.)

Pettigrew sneers at the instinctual servitude. Hypocritical much? Harry thinks disdainfully. Nevertheless, he changes attitudes, straightening his back, head held slightly higher. (He will not present submission to this man. The mere thought makes him want to instinctively gag, even he has moral limits when it comes to ass-kissing.) 

“I meant you should take up the Rose Robbery Case,” The man says, waving the manilla file in Harry’s face like one would expect a snobby rich person to wave food to a homeless man. 

Harry frowns suspiciously, pulling on the blunt angsting teenager mask that everyone- sans his house heads, but everybody thinks they’re biased,- seems to expect from him (He knows a scripted conversation when he sees one). 

“But don’t you have the Rose case...?” he asks plainly. Pettigrew glares at him. Harry mentally snorts. This really is too easy. 

“Look, any detective worth their salt knows about the Rose Robberies, It’s two years old, and the guy behind it has been smart enough not to leave behind any clues,” He pauses, checking to see if Harry even has heard of the case in question. 

Harry has. The Rose Robberies had started when he was sixteen. He remembers the day quite clearly, as it was, to him, a special day. He remembers the TV announcing thievery at a jewelry store, marked by a single rose. The Dursleys had brushed it off, saying the hooligan who pulled it was probably being carted to the police station while they watched. Two weeks later, however, the police were still declining comment and another robbery had occurred, marked with the very same rose.

Experimentally, Harry had stolen something that day, just to see why somebody would do it in the first place. He loved it. He loved the rush, the thrill, the relief when the item in question was stuffed somewhere safe (He doesn’t admit it to himself, but he still does.) Somehow though, his crimes never deterred him from the dream of following in his father’s footsteps, so here he was, years later, a criminal and a detective in the making. (Because did it really matter whether stealing was necessary for him? It was still just as much of a crime, unfortunately.)

“It’s pretty obvious by now we have more pressing matters to attend to-” Pettigrew continues, undeterred by harry’s silence,

“And since there haven’t been any casualties, pretty much anyone can have a go-” 

Harry rolls his eyes. 

“So are you going to take the case, or not?” 

Harry grunts noncommittally. On one hand, he doesn’t know whether working on a case like this will get him promoted or cement his invisibility when it comes to the detective field. On the other, there have been rumors Pettigrew has been hanging out with people higher up on the ladder. Harry doesn’t want to risk losing his job and, by proxy, having to give up his flat. 

Pettigrew pauses at his not-acceptance, his face slightly scrunched as he thinks. (As if he hasn’t been fed this entire conversation, Harry sighs bitterly)

“Two weeks.” 

Harry frowns, “what?” 

“Two weeks to finish the case. If you do it, I'll get you an interview with Snape.” Pettigrew says; a knowing smirk dominating his face. 

Harry feels a mad grin wanting to dominate lips, but he manages to suppress it. Snape is the co-CEO of Hogwarts, with only Dumbledore as his better, and an interview with someone of his stature could improve his paycheck. 

The only problem? He despises Harry’s very being.

He knows that he can't say no now, though (Pettigrew’s proud leer tells him that much.) As extremely as he despises the notion, he realizes he’s backed against a corner. Either he accepts and the timer starts to tick, or he doesn’t, and Pettigrew will mention his unease to Snape. (Harry knows that with enough pulled strings, he could lose his job, his flat, his freedom, his everything.) 

“Fine,” Harry decides, annoyance purposefully tinging his tone. Let him think he’s won.

“I accept.” 

Pettigrew chuckles, “Have fun then,” and hands him the surprisingly light file. He flips it open as soon as the other man leaves.  
He knows the drill well enough -interview, analyze, repeat- but judging by the fact that nobody has solved this before, he thinks he might have to start a new system altogether. 

The (minimal) information in the folder, only a cropped photo of a bejeweled ‘S’, and a list of visitors that had gone to the museum and previous locations, confirms his thoughts. 

He shakes the folder once out of disbelief and a slip of paper falls out. He sighs and bends down to pick it up. As he examines the pass he chuckles appreciatively. Pettigrew had been kind enough to get him a one time ticket to the museum crime sight, how nice. 

He slips the pass into his front pocket and places the file into his bag. 

He checks his watch. It’s old, older than him in fact, but it is one of his most prized possessions. He just refurbished it recently, what with his first paycheck helping out. (And his pickpocketing, but he doesn’t think about that.) 

The face is slightly scratched, but underneath the abused glass is a stag, a rat, a wolf, and a dog, all under the full moon. Harry still remembers when he first understood what this watch truly meant. 

He had been 13 at the time, with nothing but a scholarship to a special high school and a few acquaintances. His first year at Hogwarts had been memorable in a special way, what with his defense teacher being one of his dad’s best friends. R. J. Lupin had been the name adorned on his suitcase, Harry remembers.

Harry and Professor Lupin had talked a lot over that school year; meeting for tea, practicing knife skills. If Harry was honest, Remus was the only reason he had made it through Hogwarts and into the Agents of the Phoenix, or the AoP, as it was called. 

Besides that though, Lupin had told him about his father; how he’d had a chronic illness as a child, and how his three friends, Padfoot, Wormtail, and his father (He refused to tell him who Padfoot and Wormtail were,) had crowded around his bed after each treatment, pretending he was actually a werewolf, and that they had all magically become animals. 

He told him how it was actually quite childish, but how he appreciated it all the same. They’d named themselves the marauders, he’d explained, and so, each month the cycle would continue. He’d always stop then, commenting on the time or weather, as if to distract Harry from asking what had happened afterward. 

For a teacher with detective credentials, it had seemed he was horrible at hiding secrets from his ‘unofficial’ god-son. (No matter how many times Harry asked, however, he never said what happened to his real godfather.) 

Harry sighs and his mind zones back in again. He glances at his wrist, and, finally, he finds the watch hands, the long one at 6, the shorter one between 10 and 11. 

He has about an hour until his break. Perfect. Harry slips on his bag and closes the door behind him. He has a museum to visit.


End file.
